UC-NRLF 


B    3    325    IbD 


r^i 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


THE  WISDOM  OF  THE   BEASTS 


THE  WISDOM 
OF  THE  BEASTS 


BY 


CHARLES    AUGUSTUS    STRONG 


BOSTON   AND   NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON   iMIFFLIN    COMPANY 

1922 


SEVEN  HUNDRED  AND  EIGHTY  COPIES  PRINTED  FOR 

THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA  BV  R.  &'  R.  CLARK 

LIMITED  OF  EDINBURGH 


Preface 

As  I  have  been  accused  of  an  over-use  of 
technical  terms  in  my  serious  books,  and 
of  sacrihcing  the  style  to  the  idea — a  grave 
defect,  I  admit,  in  a  philosopher — I  have 
endeavoured  in  these  fables  to  say  the  same 
thing  in  words  that  he  who  runs,  or  travels 
by  train  or  motor,  may  read.  If,  in  addi- 
tion, he  should  mark  and  inwardly  digest, 
I  trust  he  will  suffer  no  harm  from  my 
stories,  and,  indeed,  think  no  harm  of 
them.  The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts  will  not 
seem  a  pretentious  title,  if  the  nature  and 
limitations  of  their  wisdom,  as  here  set 
forth,  be  considered.  Some  of  the  beasts 
turn  out  wiser  than  others,  but  so  do  some 
men    and  even  some  philosophers.       They 


M363523 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

are  all  God's  creatures.  And  I  shall  be 
satisfied  if  the  reader,  who  may  fancy  the 
views  of  some  particular  beast,  or  (if  a 
philosopher)  perchance  find  himself  here 
depicted,  sees  his  way,  in  the  end,  to 
include  the  author  too  in  that  category. 


VI 


Contents 


The  Top  and  the   Bee 

The  Bird  and  the  Fish 

Achilles  and  the  Tortoise 

The  Eagle  and  the  Bullet 

The    Truih-Seek-ers     . 

The  Bee  and  the  Wasp 

The  Ape  and  the   Dog 

The  Lamb  and  its  Mother 

The  Mole  and    ihe  Lark  , 

The  Stoic  and   ihe  Christian  Mari 


vr 


PACE 
I 

7 

•5 
23 
31 
39 
47 
55 
61 

69 


VII 


Calumniari  si  quis  autem  voluerit 

Quod  et  arbores  loquantur^  non  tantum  ferae 

Fictis  jocari  nos  meminerit  fabulis. 


IX 


The  Top  and  the  Bee 


The  Top  and  the  Bee 

There  was  once  a  top,  with  a  round  body 
ending  below  in  a  point,  but  —  unlike 
most  tops  —  a  head  on  its  shoulders. 
And  as  it  spun,  an  idea  came  into  its 
head.  How  do  I  know  it  is  I  that  am 
spinning,  and  not  rather  the  world  that  is 
whirling  about  me  ?  And,  as  it  was  still 
spinning  very  fast,  it  hummed  this  idea 
aloud. 

At  the  amazing  suggestion,  the  choir 
of  heaven  and  furniture  of  earth  stood 
perfectly  still,  but  only  for  an  instant  ; 
for  they  had  other  things  to  do,  and 
could  not  afford  the  time  for  reasoning. 
But  a  bee,  who  had  been  attracted  by 
the  humming  (and,  indeed,  had  at  first 
thought  the  top  a  member  of  its  own 
species),  but  who  was  revolted  when  it 
caught    the   sense    underneath    the  sound, 

3 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

buzzed  back,  the  reply  :  Surely,  much 
spinning  has  turned  your  head  ;  do  you,  a 
mere  top — who,  if  larger  than  myself,  are 
still  smaller  than  an  apple,  and  a  foj-tiori 
smaller  than  the  earth  or  than  the  planet 
Jupiter — presume  to  think  that  all  these 
heavenly  bodies  are  circling  about  you^ 
and  that  you  are  the  centre  of  the  universe  ? 
Think  of  Ptolemy,  and  of  the  difficulties 
of  his  system,  which  upon  this  view 
would  be  much  increased  ;  think  of  the 
discredit  into  which  the  very  word 
anthropocentric  has  fallen. 

At  this  the  top,  which  was  a  modest 
toy,  experienced  a  momentary  feeling  of 
shame,  and  had  to  admit  to  itself  that 
there  was  something  a  little  impudent 
in  its  suggestion  ;  but,  being  also  hard- 
headed,  and  desirous  of  doing  justice  at 
once  to  itself  and  to  the  rest  of  the  world, 
it  replied  to  the  bee  :  I  see  your  point  ; 
but  it  seems  to  me,  none  the  less,  that 
there  is  something  in  my  suggestion  ;  and 
perhaps  we  might  make  a  compromise, 
and   say  that  each   of  us — you  speak,  of 

4 


The  Top  and  the  Bee 

course,  for  the  rest  of  the  universe — is 
moving  with  respect  to  the  other  ?  That 
is,  from  my  point  of  view  you  are  moving, 
and  from  your  point  of  view  I  am  moving, 
and,  in  short,  our  motion  is  reciprocal. 
Reciprocity — that  is  all  I  contend  for. 
And  as  he  hummed  these  words  (his 
humming  was  now  distinctly  less  vociferous 
than  before),  the  top  thought  he  had  said 
the  last  word  about  the  matter. 

In  order  the  better  to  hear  him,  the 
bee  had  drawn  very  close,  and  being 
caught  in  a  little  eddy  of  air  above  him, 
it  now  alighted  on  his  shoulder.  For  a 
moment  its  head  was  turned,  and  it  said 
to  the  top  :  I  sec  that  everything  depends 
on  the  point  of  view  ;  there  is  certainly 
much  to  be  said  for  your  proposal — more- 
over, it  accords  w^ith  the  democratic  spirit 
of  the  times.  One  point  of  view  is  as 
good  as  another. 

But  at  this  moment,  recalling  that  it 
had  business,  it  flew  up  ;  and  immediately 
its  head  ceased  to  turn,  and  all  the  objects 
about  it  ceased  to  whirl  ;  and  it  saw  that 

5 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

what  had  been  moving  was  simply  the 
top.  And  as  it  settled  upon  a  flower,  it 
called  back  to  the  top  :  One  point  of  view 
is  as  good  as  another — if  not  better  ! 

But  the  top  had  now  begun  to  wobble  ; 
the  world  appeared  to  it  to  be  behaving 
very  strangely,  and  the  strictly  reciprocal 
character  of  their  relations  was  not  as 
clear  to  it  as  before.  It  had  wholly 
ceased  to  hum,  the  relationist  or  any 
other  doctrine.  In  a  moment  more  it 
was  lying  motionless  on  the  ground,  re- 
flecting sadly  that,  if  all  motion  can  be 
looked  at  from  two  points  of  view,  it  is 
the  point  of  view  of  the  universe  that 
prevails  in  the  long  run. 


The  Bird  and  the  Fish 


The  Bird  and  the  Fish 

There  was  a  young  bird,  just  taught  to 
fly  but  very  observing,  who  lived  (or  had 
recently  lived)  in  a  nest  on  a  steeple,  close 
to  a  broad-faced  clock.  The  daily  pro- 
gramme included  a  flight  across  a  broad 
meadow  to  a  stream,  where  meat  znd 
drink  were  to  be  had  in  close  proximity, 
and  a  return  for  the  afternoon  nap  and  for 
the  night's  repose.  The  mother  was  a 
punctilious  old  bird,  who  lived  by  rule, 
and  made  a  great  point  of  punctuality  ; 
and  her  ofi^spring,  partly  from  filial  affec- 
tion, partly  in  dread  of  her  reproof,  had 
soon  acquired  those  regular  habits  which 
are  so  desirable  in  little  birds.  It  flew 
straight  from  the  steeple  to  the  stream 
and  from  the  stream  to  the  steeple,  taking 
careful  note  of  the  objects  on  the  way, 
and    timing    its  journeys    exactly   by   the 

9 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

hands  of  the  great  clock,  which  were 
visible  from  the  stream. 

Now,  ever  since  this  young  bird  was 
hatched,  there  had  been  a  dead  calm,  with 
not  a  breath  of  air  stirring.  But  on  the 
morning  in  question,  it  noticed  that  some- 
thing was  changed  in  nature,  it  could 
hardly  tell  what  :  sounds  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  stream  were  veiled  and  scarcely 
audible,  while  those  from  a  barnyard  in 
the  opposite  direction  were  abnormally 
distinct.  But  when  it  flew  to  the  stream, 
a  stranger  phenomenon  still  presented 
itself.  For  it  found  that,  as  judged  by 
the  hands  of  the  clock,  it  arrived  ahead 
of  time.  And  how  this  could  possibly  be, 
was  a  problem  that  at  once  engaged  its 
attention  ;  for  it  was  not  merely  observant, 
but  had  an  inquiring  mind. 

Seeing  a  little  fish  of  about  its  own  age, 
with  which  it  had  made  friends,  it  laid 
the  question  before  him.  Why,  said  the 
fish,  don't  you  understand  ?  there  must  be 
a  current  in  the  air,  like  what  there  is  in 
the  water.      It  always  takes  me  longer  to 

lO 


The  Bird  and  the  Fish 

swim  up  stream  than  to  swim  down. 
What  is  a  current  ?  asked  the  bird  ;  I 
never  saw  one.  And  how  silly  to  speak 
of  swimming,  which  is  an  entirely  different 
thing  from  flying — much  less  of  a  feat,  in 
hict.  In  swimming,  as  I  can  clearly  see, 
you  have  the  help  of  the  water  to  buoy 
you  up  ;  but  to  liy  is  to  sustain  oneself  in 
nothing  at  all  ! 

Nothing  at  all  !  answered  the  fish  :  do 
you  call  air  nothing  at  all  ?  I  like  to 
come  to  the  surface  every  little  while  to 
breathe  it  ;  otherwise  I  should  not  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaint- 
ance. What  it  is  you  breathe,  returned 
the  bird,  I  do  not  know — I  have  always 
supposed  it  to  be  water.  As  for  air,  I 
have  never  observed  it,  and  it  is  against 
my  principles  to  admit  what  cannot  be 
observed. 

Here  the  colloquy  was  interrupted  by 
the  hsli  catching  sight  of  a  worm,  w  liich 
diverted  its  thoughts  from  philosophy. 
But  the  little  bird,  left  to  its  meditations 
(for    it    was    now    too    engrossed    by    the 

1 1 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

question  to  think  of  feeding),  evolved  ere 
long  a  theory  which  seemed  to  it  alone 
adequate  to  meet  the  facts.  For  he  was 
a  gifted  bird,  and  already  expert  at 
scientific  reasoning.  If  I  fly,  with  only 
the  usual  effort,  in  less  than  the  usual 
time,  it  can  only  be  because  the  distance 
between  the  steeple  and  the  stream  has 
contracted  over  night.  Objects  are  not 
constant  in  their  magnitude,  but  are 
capable  of  contraction  under  certain  condi- 
tions. And,  elated  by  this  conclusion,  he 
reflected  what  a  wonderful  thing  scientific 
instruments  are,  which  enable  us  to  dis- 
cover astonishing  things  about  nature  that 
we  should  not  otherwise  have  known. 

Perceiving  by  the  steeple  clock  that  it 
was  now  almost  noon,  he  flew  back  to  it 
as  straight  as  he  could  fly.  And  here 
another  surprising  thing  occurred.  For 
— measured  by  the  clock — he  now  arrived 
as  much  behind  time  as  he  had  before 
arrived  ahead  of  it.  And  this  set  him 
again  a-thinking.  Can  it  be,  he  said  to 
himself,  that  the  field,  which   I  thought 

12 


The  Bird  and  the  Fish 

contracted  this  morning,  had  expanded 
again  by  afternoon,  and  become  as  much 
too  large  as  it  was  before  too  small  ? 
Surely  a  doubtful  hypothesis.  And  for  a 
time  he  was  in  great  perplexity. 

Ah  !  I  have  it,  he  cried  out  at  last  ; 
what  has  changed  is  not  the  field,  but  the 
clock.  By  fiying  away  from  a  clock  you 
alter  its  time-keeping  so  that  it  loses,  and 
by  flying  towards  it  you  alter  its  time- 
keeping so  that  it  gains.  The  time-keep- 
ing of  clocks  is  not  a  fixed  and  unalterable 
thing,  but  depends  on  whether  you  move 
or  stand  still.  What  is  more,  their  varia- 
tion can  be  calculated  from  the  distance 
and  the  speed  at  which  you  go.  What  a 
wonderful  thing  is  mathematics,  which 
enables  you  to  calculate — and  to  prove, 
with  all  the  certainty  of  figures — how 
natural  objects  will  behave  ! 

At  this  moment  the  young  philosopher 
caught  sight  of  his  mother,  and  rushed  to 
tell  her  of  his  remarkable  experiences, 
and  his  discoveries  concerning  the  con- 
traction  of  fields   or   the    more   probable 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

irregularities  of  clocks.  But  the  hen-bird 
only  replied :  Foolish  child  !  there  has 
been  a  slight  wind  blowing  since  day- 
break. What  is  wind  ?  asked  the  young 
bird.  A  motion  of  the  atmosphere,  said 
its  mother.  And  what  is  the  atmosphere  ? 
the  little  questioner  persisted.  But  the 
mother -bird  only  answered:  You  will 
know  when  you  are  older. 

This  is  the  same  story  I  heard  from 
the  fish,  thought  the  little  bird.  I  have 
long  suspected  my  mother  of  superstition, 
and  now  I  am  sure  of  it. 

But  the  sky  had  become  very  dark, 
rumblings  were  heard  in  the  distance,  and 
pretty  soon  a  mighty  rushing  noise  seemed 
to  swallow  all  nature  up,  ruffling  the 
feathers  of  the  little  bird  and  sending  the 
leaves  flying  as  if  they  were  fit  to  be 
its  playmates.  Undismayed  by  the  havoc, 
it  sat  in  the  shelter  of  its  mother's  wing, 
and  whispered  :  The  heavens  are  falling — 
and  yet  there  are  people  who  can  believe 
in  the  fixity  of  time  and  space  ! 


H 


Achilles  and  the  Tortoise 


15 


Achilles  and  the  Tortoise 

Dear  old  Zeno  !  said  the  tortoise.  He 
was  not  only  a  genius,  the  keenest  of 
antique  dialecticians,  and  a  faithtul  friend 
withal,  but  he  had  a  tender  feeling  for 
the  lower  animals.  How  jolly  those 
puzzles  were — the  arrow  that  couldn't 
move  from  the  spot  (or,  rather,  could 
only  get  into  endless  spots  without 
moving),  the  runners  in  the  stadium  who 
ran  twice  as  fast  as  they  did  run,  and 
Achilles  with  his  ever  not  quite.  Zeno 
may  or  may  not  have  been  himself  taken  in. 
But  what  I  reverence  him  for  is  that  he 
wouldn't  let  Achilles  catch  the  tortoise. 

You  may  not  appreciate  the  feelings 
of  one  who,  among  the  lower  animals,  is 
nearly  if  not  quite  the  lowest.  A  horny 
case  protects  my  carcass,  and  aftords  a  safe 
retreat  in  time  of  danger,  but   I   have  no 

17  c 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

similar  covering  for  the  spirit.  Yet  you 
must  have  noticed  my  sensitiveness.  The 
worm  can  turn  when  trodden  on  :  I 
have  not  even  that  resource.  A  certain 
natural  slowness — not  to  be  confused  with 
stupidity — exposes  me  to  the  gibes  of  the 
superficial.  It  would  have  been  a  cruel 
jest  on  Zeno's  part  to  match  me  with 
Achilles,  if  he  had  not  forbidden  that 
mighty  man  to  overtake  me. 

For  two  thousand  years  the  interdict 
held  good.  At  least,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  learned  world,  no  completely  satis- 
factory solution  of  Zeno's  difficulties  had 
ever  been  found  ;  and  if  they  were  in- 
superable to  philosophers,  of  course  they 
were  insuperable  to  Achilles.  I  was 
temporarily  safe.  But  towards  the  end 
of  the  last  century  a  German  mathe- 
matician, who  never  had  heard  of  Zeno 
— and  did  not  share,  I  fear,  his  kindly 
interest  in  the  tortoise — appears  to  have 
solved  the  riddle,  and  broken  down  the 
last  barrier  between  me  and  my  redoubt- 
able adversary. 


Achilles  and  the  Tortoise 

How  I  long,  under  these  circumstances, 
for  a  modern  Zeno,  you  can  perhaps  imag- 
ine. I  looked  into  the  pages  of  a  French 
philosopher  of  repute,  but  he  said  there 
had  never  been  any  real  difficulty,  and 
that  Achilles  had  only  to  walk  straight 
forward  (I  wonder  why  he  didn't  do 
it,  then  ?)  in  order  to  reach  me.  His 
English  critic — the  brilliant  mathematico- 
logician  you  wot  of — says  the  difficulties 
were  real,  but  that  the  German  has  solved 
them.  This  may  be  ;  but  what  grieves 
me  is  that  he  (the  critic)  had  such  a 
splendid  chance  to  rehabilitate  me — nay, 
to  turn  the  tables  finally  on  Achilles  in 
my  favour — and  missed  it.  I  must  tell 
you  the  story,  for  it  is  interesting. 

Tristram  Shandy,  he  says,  took  a  year 
to  write  the  history  of  the  first  two  days 
of  his  life  :  but  if  he  had  persevered — 
and  had  had  eternity  to  do  it  in — no  part 
of  his  life  ivoulJ  have  remained  uniiritten. 
(This  explains,  thought  I  as  I  read,  how 
the  very  wicked  can  expiate  their  sins  in 
hell,  if   they  have  eternity  to  do  it  in.) 

19 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

He   says   we   may   call    this   paradox   the 
Tristram  Shandy. 

But  why  didn't  he  put  Achilles  in  the 
place  of  Tristram  Shandy's  life,  and  me  in 
the  place  of  Tristram  Shandy,  and  call  it 
the  Inverse  Achilles  ?  You  may  not  have 
heard  that  I  once  out-distanced  a  hare  ; 
and  I  should  not  have  hesitated  to  measure 
myself  with  Achilles,  if  I  had  mathematics 
on  my  side,  and  the  positive  assurance 
that,  if  I  kept  on,  no  part  of  the  ground 
between  myself  and  him  would  have 
remained  untraversed. 

Between  ourselves,  I  should  have 
thought  that  363/365ths  of  Tristram 
Shandy's  life  would  have  remained  un- 
written, and  that  to  all  eternity.  But  a 
tortoise  cannot  be  expected  to  stand  in  its 
own  light. 

As  the  tortoise  said  these  words, 
Achilles  appeared  in  the  distance,  and 
strode  rapidly  up.  His  plume  nodded 
terribly,  and  his  great  stature  stood  out 
against  the  sky  ;  but  as  he  drew  nearer, 
a  smile   was  visible  on   his  countenance, 

20 


Achilles  and  the  Tortoise 

and  a  look  of  fatigue  indicative  of  a  long 
journey.  The  tortoise  had  at  first  with- 
drawn into  its  shell,  but  perceiving  the 
smile,  it  thrust  its  head  out  again,  and 
said  to  Achilles  humbly  :  I  had  almost 
ceased  to  expect  your  highness.  My 
compliments  to  your  lowness,  returned 
Achilles  affably,  on  your  really  remark- 
able performance  :  the  victory  over  the 
hare  must  now  take  second  place,  de- 
cidedly. Your  highness  speaks  like  a 
Frenchman,  said  the  tortoise.  But  how 
comes  it  that,  after  having  been  expected 
so  long,  and  so  often  despaired  of,  you 
have  nevertheless  arrived  ? 

It  is  a  purely  mathematical  problem, 
answered  Achilles.  You  had  a  start  of 
two  thousand  years,  or  the  equivalent  of 
that  in  kilometres  ;  and  if  you  w^ill  divide 
that  by  the  difference  between  our  speeds, 
you  will  find  that  the  sum  comes  out 
exactly.  I  never  was  strong  at  mathe- 
matics, said  the  tortoise — indeed,  you  see 
yourself  that  it  has  nearly  been  my  ruin 
— and    I   fear   that  this   defect  unfits   me 

21 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

for  all  deeper  inquiries.  So  successful  a 
runner,  replied  Achilles  with  exquisite 
courtesy,  has  no  need  to  excuse  himself; 
it  is  better  to  be  safe  and  sound  practically 
than  safe  and  sound  mathematically.  At 
least,  it  was  in  that  spirit  that  I  fought  at 
Troy. 


22 


The  Eagle  and  the  Bullet 


23 


i 


The  Eagle  and  the  Bullet 

An  eagle  sat  on  a  mountain -crag,  and 
marvelled  at  the  din  and  the  smoke  of 
battle  that  rose  from  the  valley  below. 
I  am  thought  a  cruel  bird,  it  said,  though 
I  care  for  my  young,  and  kill  only  in  order 
to  feed  them  ;  but  what  lust  of  carnage  and 
fierce  energy  of  destruction  animate  these 
men  !  Will  the  turmoil  never  cease  ?  for 
I  fear  for  my  eaglets. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  its 
mouth,  when  a  spent  bullet,  sped  upward 
by  some  distant  musket,  described  a  grace- 
ful curve  and  fell  on  the  rock  at  its  feet. 
For  a  moment  the  bullet,  being  spent,  was 
too  exhausted  for  utterance  ;  but,  having 
recovered  its  breath,  it  said  to  the  eagle  : 
A  thousand  pardons  !  I  meant  no  harm 
to  you,  still  less  to  your  little  brood  ;  an 
irresistible  force  impelled  me,  and  I  had 
^5 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

to  take  the  line  and  go  to  the  point  ^^  hich 
it  determined. 

I  accept  your  apology,  replied  the  eagle 
majestically,  at  least  as  concerns  your  hav- 
ing been  driven  ;  but  this  business  of  the 
line  and  the  point  needs  looking  into.  A 
wide  experience  of  flights,  and  something 
piercing  in  my  vision,  have  at  last  led  me 
to  the  conclusion  (though  the  matter  w^as 
long  in  doubt  in  my  mind)  that  no  such 
things  as  lines  and  points  exist.  They  are 
creatures  of  the  imagination,  necessary, 
indeed,  to  the  description  of  flying,  but 
not  to  be  taken  as  existent  /;;  rerum  natura. 

I    don't    knowr,    returned    the    bullet, 

whether  you  consider  me  as  existing    in 

rerum  natura^  for   you  are  a    lively  bird, 

and  may  not  have  room  for  the  inanimate 

in  your  scheme  of  things  ;  but — speaking 

with   a   due    sense   of  the   enormous   gap 

between  us — I  must  honestly  say  that  my 

very  limited  experiences,  or  rather  dumb 

feelings,  suggest    an  opposite   conclusion. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  move  in  lines  and 

stop  at  points. 

26 


The  Eagle  and  the  Bullet 

I  used  to  be  ot  that  opinion  myself, 
rejoined  the  eagle  grandly  ;  indeed,  in 
association  with  a  brother  eagle  of  great 
intellectual  power,  I  worked  out  a  philo- 
sophy which  resolved  time  into  instants 
and  space  into  points.  Those  were  all 
that  we  needed  for  our  geometrical 
reckonings — you  know,  in  our  flying  we 
prefer  to  follow  the  hypotenuse — but  I 
afterwards  became  convinced  that  we  had 
thereby  knocked  the  bottom  out  of  things. 
For  no  extension  was  left  us  in  which  to 
fly,  and  no  time  in  which  to  do  it. 

A  hard  case  for  an  eagle,  remarked  the 
bullet,  not  to  have  time  and  space  to  fly 
in.  But  I  thought  infinity  (I  know  a  little 
about  it,  being  myself  pure  mind-dust) 
solved  the  problem  :  that  you  could  get 
from  point  to  point  in  instants  if  you  had 
enough  of  them. 

Alas,  no  !  answered  the  eagle  :  instants 
will  not  do — you  have  got  to  have  dura- 
tions. What  sort  of  things  are  those  ? 
said  the  bullet  ;  for  I  have  never  ex- 
perienced, I  mean  felt,  them.  From  the 
27 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

time  I  leave  the  gun  to  the  time  I  hit  the 
mark,  it  is  never  anything  but  one  ever- 
present  instant.  Goodness  !  cried  the 
eagle  :  then  you  inhabit  eternity.  Or  the 
extreme  opposite,  the  bullet  replied. 

But,  now  that  I  have  heard  your 
reasons,  the  bullet  continued,  let  me  ex- 
plain to  you  how  the  matter  looks  to  me. 
The  point  of  view  of  a  bullet  is  not  con- 
temptible, in  these  transcendent  affairs. 
And,  first,  let  me  tell  you  what  happens 
when  I  go  straight  up,  as  I  am  sometimes 
obliged  to  do.  When  I  reach  the  upper 
limit  of  my  course,  I  stop  and  turn  back. 
Now  perhaps  you  think  I  stop  for  what 
you  call  a  duration.  Far  from  it  !  the 
laws  of  nature,  to  which  you  and  I  are 
alike  subject,  permit  no  loitering,  and  it 
is  not  at  the  top  of  my  flight  that  I  can 
rest  but  only  at  the  bottom. 

What  is  more,  these  same  laws  require 

me  to  descend  in  a  straight  line.      Hold  ! 

said  the  eagle  :  with  the  infinity  of  your 

dusty  nature,  you  must  descend  in  a  great 

many  lines.      And,  it    added,  if  what   I 

28 


The  Eagle  and  the  Bullet 

hear  about  the  agitation  of  your  interior 
is  true,  they  must  be  very  complicated 
ones.  They  are  not  the  less  lines,  said  the 
bullet ;  and  their  joint  effect  is  straightness. 
Whicli  of  your  particles,  asked  the  eagle 
quizzically,  did  you  say  stopped  ascending 
when  it  reached  a  point  ?  All  of  them, 
replied  the  bullet. 

But  all  this  is  pure  mythology,  said  the 
eagle — I  mean,  natural  science.  It  is  not 
what  a  living  creature  sees  or  feels.  When 
you  look  at  the  sharp  division  between 
light  and  darkness,  asked  the  bullet — as, 
for  instance,  where  yonder  black  cliff  cuts 
the  sky — do  you  not  see  a  line  ?  Only  a 
margin  of  indetermination,  said  the  eagle. 
And  where  that  slender  pinnacle  ends  in 
the  blue,  do  you  not  see  a  point  .?  Only 
a  little  area  of  vagueness,  the  eagle  replied. 
You  reconcile  me  to  my  blindness,  said 
the  bullet  ;  for  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
have  eyes,  but  see  not. 

We  seem  to  be  looking  at  reality  from 

opposite  sides,  it  went  on  :   to  you,  despite 

your   perspicacity  (or  perhaps  because  of 

29 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

it  ?),  it  is  all  extensions  and  durations  ;  to 
me,  it  is  all  points  and  instants.  Can  it 
be  that  the  difference  between  us  depends 
on  the  fact  that  you  are  an  animal  and  I  a 
mere  lump  of  lead  ? 

Very  likely,  replied  the  eagle  proudly, 
for  with  my  vision  I  can  see  a  vast  sweep 
of  country,  and  with  my  memory  (you 
know  I  am  very  long-lived)  I  can  ap- 
preciate durations.  You,  poor  dusty  thing, 
must  be  satisfied  with  feeling  points  and 
instants — if  so  be  you  do  feel  them,  which 
I  very  much  doubt. 

With  these  words,  the  eagle  flew  aloft 
to  gaze  at  the  sun.  But  the  bullet  stood 
its  ground,  and  only  thought  :  How 
strange  that  the  truth  should  be  hidden 
from  this  noble  and  far-sighted  bird,  and 
revealed  to  a  bullet  ! 


30 


The  Truth-Seekers 


31 


The  Truth-Seekers 

What  is  truth  ?  said  jesting  Pilate — I 
mean  in  matters  of  philosophy  and  religion. 
We  have  looked  into  the  question  at 
Rome,  in  our  higher  circles,  and  I  am 
assured  that  the  young  priests  in  the 
temples  have  lost  faith  in  the  old  deities, 
that  an  haruspex  grins  when  he  meets  an 
haruspex,  and  that  the  office  of  pontifex 
maximus  is  obtained  by  political  influence 
if  not  by  bribery.  And  so — to  speak  for 
the  moment  only  of  religion — I  should  say 
that  truth  might  be  defined  as  the  relation 
of  an  idea  to  your  interests. 

You  must  consider  the  very  varied 
nature  of  interests,  said  his  interlocutor, 
an  old  Jew  of  much  business  experience. 
In  my  country  we  take  a  most  serious  view 
of   religion.      Our  ancestral    cult    teaches 

33  D 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

that  prosperity  is  bound  up  very  closely 
with  behaviour;  and  I  have  myself  found 
that  strict  observance  of  engagements  and 
minute  care  in  weighing  are  necessary  to 
business  success.  Our  priests  are  at  the 
same  time  our  governors  ;  and  anything 
that  tended  to  undermine  their  authority 
would  be  subversive  of  the  State.  So  that, 
frankly,  if  the  Hebrew  religion  were  not 
in  existence,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
invent  it. 

We  too,  said  a  young  Greek  of  Alex- 
andria, a  rhetorician  and  clever  manipu- 
lator of  words,  have  examined  the  nature 
of  truth  in  our  schools,  and  it  may  interest 
you  to  hear  the  conclusions  to  which  we 
have  come.  We  think  that  truth  is  simply 
what  you  believe.  Thus  the  Egyptian 
peasant  believes  that  the  sun  is  a  fiery 
monster,  and  that  is  therefore  truth  for 
him.  Most  people  believe  that  the  earth 
is  flat,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  an 
ocean,  and  that  is  accordingly  truth  for 
them.  You  and  I,  who  know  that  the 
earth  is  round,  and  that  the  sun  is  simply  a 
34 


The  Truth-Seekers 

ball  of  luminous  matter  revolving  about  it 
(for  we  may  exclude  the  notion  of  Aris- 
tarchus,  that  it  is  the  earth  that  revolves 
about  the  sun),  cannot  prove  these  highly 
probable  opinions,  and  therefore  truth  is, 
in  our  case  too,  what  we  believe. 

But  what,  in  that  case,  interposed 
Pilate,  is  the  sense  of  asking  whether  a 
belief  is  true  ?  I  know  the  question  will 
sound  ingenuous,  but  I  am  not  used  to  these 
hair-splitting  discussions. 

With  the  cares  of  empire  on  your 
shoulders,  answered  the  Greek,  you  natur- 
ally have  other  things  to  think  of.  But 
your  query,  he  went  on  with  the  greatest 
fluency,  admits  of  a  perfectly  simple 
answer.  Truth,  so  far  as  yet  attained, 
means  what  we  believe  now,  but  perfect 
truth  means  what  we  will  believe  in  future. 
You  can  see  for  yourself  that  this  must  be 
so,  since  any  other  kind  of  truth  would 
not  be  attainable.  What  if  we  should 
be  permanently  deceived  ?  objected  Pilate. 
We  should  not  hiow  that  we  were  de- 
ceived, returned   the  Greek  ;  and   not    to 

35 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

know  that  you  are  deceived  is — for  us — to 
possess  the  truth. 

This  is  not  the  kind  of  truth  I  ask  for, 
observed  Pilate,  in  the  trials  (like  the  one 
just  ended)  I  am  occasionally  obliged  to 
hold.  When  I  bid  a  witness  speak  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth,  I  mean  by  the  word  conformity 
to  fad. 

Your  honour  is  a  great  proconsul,  but 
doubtless  not  versed  in  these  matters,  said 
the  rhetorician  ;  for  no  witness  can  testify 
to  anything  but  what  he  believes  to  be  con- 
formable to  fact.  You  cannot  resurrect  the 
past  itself. 

Thank  heaven  not,  replied  Pilate.  I 
have  had  enough  of  governing  and  trials, 
and  particularly  of  this  last. 

Let  me  put  a  case  to  you,  Greekling, 
said  the  wily  Jew.  Suppose  we  should 
differ  as  to  the  number  of  windows  in  the 
next  room,  whether  it  be  three  or  four. 
Now  truth,  as  you  yourself  allow,  implies 
conformity  to  fact.  I  say  there  are  three 
windows  ;  you  say  there  are  four.    Couldn't 

36 


The  Truth-Scekcrs 

we  go  into  the  next  room  and  verify — I 
believe  you  attach  great  weight  to  verifica- 
tion— our  respective  assertions,  and  if  there 
proved  to  be  three  windows,  wouldn't  truth 
have  belonged  to  mine  in  a  different  sense 
from  that  of  its  having  been  believed  ? 

But  note  what  you  imply  by  your 
problem,  returned  the  slippery  Greek. 
You  imply  a  complete  absence  of  doubt  as 
to  the  meaning  of  our  question.  Suppose, 
in  addition  to  the  three  windows,  there 
were  an  opening  over  a  door,  like  what  I 
have  observed  in  some  Western  houses. 

Yes,  or  a  loophole  of  any  description, 
broke  out  Pilate.      Oh,  you  Greeks  ! 

After  the  laugh  had  subsided,  he  went 
on,  with  true  Roman  seriousness  :  I  am 
not  a  scoffer,  though  my  opening  remarks 
may  have  suggested  it.  And  if  I  were, 
I  should  have  difficulty  in  remaining 
one,  after  the  events  of  this  morning.  I 
honestly  tried  to  do  justice,  in  a  particularly 
difficult  case  ;  and  if  I  finally  allowed  your 
Jewish  authorities  to  have  their  way,  it 
was  for  the  technical  reason  that  a  Roman 
37 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

governor  must  govern  conquered  peoples 
according  to  their  own  law,  and  not  accord- 
ing to  the  better  law  of  the  Romans.  And 
the  magistrates  assured  me  that,  according  to 
their  law,  the  prisoner  was  worthy  of  death. 

Your  honour  need  have  no  doubts  on 
that  score,  said  the  old  Jew;  he  was  a 
pestilent  fellow,  who  interfered  with  our 
legitimate  business  in  the  temple  (you  know 
I  sometimes  let  money  out),  and  on  one 
occasion  struck  me  with  a  whip  of  cords. 

There  was  something  in  his  eyes,  replied 
Pilate,  that  marked  him  out  from  other 
culprits  I  have  known ;  he  was  not  a  bad 
man,  surely,  and  I  wish  I  could  have  de- 
clared him  innocent. 

He  was  a  visionary,  said  the  Greek,  and 
believed  hewas  coming  again  on  the  clouds. 

He  is  coming,  said  a  young  boy  who 
had  served  at  table,  and  now  spoke  for  the 
first  time,  careless  of  the  astonished  look  on 
the  face  of  Pilate.     It  is  true  ! 

But  the  Greek  replied,  with  a  superior 
smile  :  You  have  a  special  interest  in 
believing  it  true. 

38 


The  Bee  and  the  Wasp 


39 


I 


The   Bee  and   the  Wasp 

Time  is  honey,  said  the  little  busy  bee. 
And  from  that  I  draw  the  consequences, 
primo^  that  there  was  no  time  before  there 
was  honey,  and  that,  therefore,  the  world 
came  into  existence  with  the  race  of  bees  ; 
secundo^  that  the  future  must  be  unadulter- 
atedly  sweet,  since  otherwise  that  portion 
of  time  would  not  be  honey.  Indeed,  the 
present  is  sweet  —  who  has  not  felt  its 
sweetness  ?  I  shall  call  this  the  saccharine 
philosophy  ;  since  it  is  easier  to  conceive 
an  idea  distinctly  if  you  have  a  name. 

Nonsense,  cried  a  wasp  :  you  are  a 
creature  with  a  sting  !  Was  existence  sweet 
to  the  man  who  tried  the  other  day  to  rob 
your  hive  ?  Did  he  not  rub  his  cheeks  and 
roar  with  pain  as  you  plied  him  with  your 
delicate  instrument  t  Moreover,  this  honey 
of  yours — which    you   esteem   sweet,  but 

41 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

many  good  judges  consider  mawkish — is 
really  made  up  of  a  multitude  of  in- 
gredients, some  of  which  are  deadly 
poisons.  The  hemlock  that  caused  the 
death  of  Socrates  is  among  the  flowers  on 
which  you  feed.  Yet  you  gloss  over  these 
sinister  facts,  and  pretend  that  all  is  sweet- 
ness !  A  really  candid  insect  would  recog- 
nise that  some  things  are  sweet  and  others 
bitter. 

I  am  not  the  only  insect  with  a  sting, 
replied  the  bee.  But  since  I  have  one,  I 
admit  that  my  doctrine  needs  rectification; 
indeed,  I  have  always  been  dimly  aware 
that  there  was  another  side  to  things. 
Now — on  reflection — I  cannot  give  up 
my  view  that  time  is  honey  :  for  my 
whole  experience  confirms  it.  May  it  not 
be  that  the  other  principle,  the  root  of 
bitterness,  is  what  we  call  space  ?  Time 
and  space  would  thus  co-operate  to  form 
the  whole  of  things,  crossing  each  other, 
as  it  were,  at  right  angles ;  but  time 
would  be  good,  space  bad — time  synthetic, 
space  analytic — time  real,  space  imaginary. 

42 


The  Bee  and  the  Wasp 

We  should  thus  have  a  sort  of  Manichaean 
philosophy,  with  contradiction  lodged  at 
the  heart  of  things. 

Why  you  should  wish  to  put  contra- 
diction in  so  central  a  place  I  cannot  under- 
stand, said  the  wasp,  unless  because  you 
find  it  in  your  philosophy  ;  but  that  has 
usually  been  considered  a  reason  for  chang- 
ing one's  philosophy.  /  might  build  a 
philosophy  upon  contradiction  ;  but  then, 
I  am  a  part  of  the  principle  which  denies. 
Let  us  review  your  system  critically.  The 
starting-point  of  your  thought  is,  I  think, 
honey.  I  mean,  though  you  say  time  is 
honey,  yet,  if  you  were  obliged  to  choose 
between  the  two,  it  is  honey,  not  time,  you 
would  prefer. 

Pardon  me,  said  the  bee  ;  if  the  Deity 
were  to  offer  me  honey  in  one  hand,  and 
the  pursuit  of  honey  in  the  other,  I  should 
choose  the  latter.  Always  providing,  it 
added  after  a  moment,  I  could  attain 
enough  of  it  for  my  daily  sustenance. 

So  that  honey,  retorted  the  wasp,  is 
what  you  are  after,  but  you  are  satisfied 
43 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

with  an  amount  of  it  that  precludes  in- 
digestion. Now,  if  it  takes  time  to  gather 
honey,  it  takes  space  to  store  it  :  what  are 
those  hexagonal  cells,  which  you  construct 
so  cleverly,  but  deployments  in  space  ? 
And  the  more  the  honey  fills  them,  the 
more  you  exult  and  buzz  ;  so  that  even 
you  recognise  that  space  enters  into  its 
essence.  The  undervaluing  of  space  seems 
to  me  a  relic  of  the  ancient  prejudice 
against  matter,  and  quite  out  of  place  in  a 
saccharine  philosophy  ;  for  honey,  after  all, 
is  matter. 

Impious  suggestion  !  cried  the  bee  ;  I 
will  no  longer  discuss  things  with  you. 
For  honey — so  far  from  being  matter — is 
the  goal  of  endeavour,  the  sumtniim  bonum^ 
the  reward  of  patient  industry  ;  it  has  an 
ethical  quality  which  evaporates  when  you 
spread  it  out  mentally  in  space.  In  its 
deepest  essence,  honey  is  life.  I  cannot 
live  without  honey  :  whence  it  follows,  by 
inexorable  logic,  that  honey  and  life  are 
the  same  thing.  And  that  is  why  I  attri- 
bute so  much  importance  to  time  in  my 

44 


The  Bee  and  the  Wasp 

philosophy.  It  is  not  simply  that  time  is 
honey  (which  has  a  certain  utilitarian 
sound),  but  that  honey  is  life  ;  so  that  to 
make  the  most  of  time  is  to  make  the  most 
of  life,  which  is  to  make  the  most  of  honey. 
But  even  you,  I  think,  said  the  bee  to  the 
wasp,  are  not  without  a  similar  means  of 
subsistence  ? 

Saying  which,  he  flew  off  into  space,  in 
search  of  saccharine  matter.  But  the  wasp, 
as  he  watched  him  go,  muttered  :  What 
narrowness  !  If  I  had  to  choose  between 
sipping  honey  and  the  use  of  my  sting,  I 
verily  believe  I  should  choose  the  latter. 


45 


I 


♦ 


The  Ape  and  the  Dog 


47 


I 


I 


The  Ape  and  the  Dog 

An  ape  had  been  reading  the  works  of  the 
late  Mr.  Darwin  ;  and  was  at  once  pleased, 
and  pained,  by  what  he  found  there. 
Pleased,  to  learn  of  his  high  connections, 
and  to  know  himself  the  ancestor  of  so 
distinguished  a  being  as  man  ;  but  pained, 
and  that  beyond  expression,  at  the  thought 
of  the  millions  of  years  that  must  elapse 
before  he  could  hope  to  overtake  his  de- 
scendants. In  fact,  he  had  fallen  into  a 
state  of  profound  melancholy;  from  which 
he  was  rescued  by  the  sight  of  some  glisten- 
ing objects  belonging  to  his  master,  a 
famous  physiologist. 

The  first  of  these  objects  was  a  long 
mirror  or  cheval-glass,  in  which  the  ape 
saw  his  portrait  depicted  to  the  very  life. 
Gazing  in  it,  not  without  complacency,  he 
was  flattered  by  its  testimony,  and  pre- 
49  ^ 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

disposed  to  believe  that  testimony  true. 
I  have  only  to  keep  up  appearances,  he 
said  to  himself,  or  proceed  a  little  further 
along  the  same  line,  and  1  shall  become 
a  man. 

When  his  curiosity  wd.s  satisfied,  he 
turned  to  the  second  object,  a  pair  of 
spectacles  which  the  physiologist  had  left 
lying  on  a  table,  and — in  imitation  of  a 
sight  he  had  seen  many  hundreds  of  times 
— clapped  them  forthw^ith  upon  his  nose. 
The  heightened  distinctness  with  which 
he  now  saw  everything,  and  a  certain 
change  for  the  better  in  the  dimensions 
of  things,  at  once  aroused  his  attention  ; 
but  when  he  took  them  off,  and  examined 
them  curiously  from  every  point  of  view, 
he  chanced  to  look  through  the  edge  of 
the  lens,  and  saw,  to  his  surprise,  that 
everything  he  looked  at  was  doubled. 
He  turned  to  his  portrait  in  the  glass, 
and  saw  two  monkeys  instead  of  one. 
A  less  intelligent  animal  would  have  been 
deceived  ;  but,  being  no  ordinary  ape, 
and  on  the  highroad  to   become  a  man, 

50 


The  Ape  and  the  Dog 

he  only  observed  :  It  appears  that  appear- 
ances are  deceptive. 

A  poor  dog,  who  lived  tied  up  in 
the  laboratory,  chanced  to  overhear  this 
remark,  and,  pricking  up  his  ears,  he 
addressed  the  ape  with  the  words  :  In 
the  dog's  life,  which  I  lead,  I  have 
occasionally  met  with  deception,  but  what 
precisely  do  you  mean  by  appearances  ? 
I,  who  live  on  solid  ground,  and  need 
substantial  food  and  drink  for  my  nourish- 
ment, am  unfamiliar  with  the  leafy, 
shadowy  concepts  of  you  who  dwell  in 
trees  (for  I  think,  when  at  home,  you 
are  arboreal  in  your  habits?),  and  should 
be  obliged  to  you  for  an  explanation. 

My  good  fellow,  said  the  kindly  ape, 
with  the  greatest  willingness.  But  have 
you  never  yourself  been  taken  in,  not  by 
man,  but  by  nature  ? 

You  recall  to  me,  returned  the  dog, 
one  of  the  bitterest  experiences  of  my 
life.  InfiUhliim  ...  As  I  was  once 
crossing  a  stream — but  you  know  the  story, 
so   why  should    I    repeat   it    to  you  ?      It 

51 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

you  wished  to  do  me  a  great  favour,  you 
would  explain  the  occurrence  to  me,  for 
I  have  never  properly  understood  it — the 
whole  thing  was  so  sudden. 

Why,  said  the  ape,  you  took  the  shadow 
for  the  substance,  the  appearance  for  the 
thing  itself.  And  in  this  you  were  only 
following,  with  your  dog-like  docility,  in 
the  footsteps  of  man,  who  has  also  not 
learned  on  all  occasions  to  distinguish  them. 

I  merely  used  my  eyes,  rejoined  the 
dog.  What  are  eyes  for,  if  not  to  show 
you  a  thing  as  it  is  ?  Would  you  have 
them  show  it  to  you  as  it  isn't  ?  I 
wouldn't  forbid  them  to  show  it  to  you 
as  it  isn't,  answered  the  ape,  if  nature 
made  them,  and  by  processes  such  as  are 
described  in  the  book,  the  good  book,  I 
have  lately  been  reading.  I  fear,  my 
honest  dog,  your  conceptions  are  just  a 
little  behind  the  times,  and  that  you  have 
never  heard  of  evolution. 

I  find  it  so  hard,  said  the  dog,  not  to 
believe  my  eyes.  Your  eyes  are  good 
enough,  answered  the  ape,  for  such  things 

52 


The  Ape  and  the  Dog 

as  eyes  were  meant  for,  but  you  have  a 
better  sense  still,  if  I  am  not  misinformed 
— I  refer  to  yowv  Jiair. 

Heavens  !  cried  the  dog  :  why  didn't 
I  think,  when  I  saw  the  image  in  the 
brook,  to  use  my  fair  ? 

Good,  said  the  ape  :  image  was  the 
mot  juste  ^  and  you  are  in  a  fair  way,  if  you 
keep  on  in  this  line,  to  overcome  your 
disabilities  of  thought. 

But  what  are  we  lingering  here  for  ? 
it  went  on,  looking  about  the  room.  I 
wish  I  knew,  answered  the  dog,  and  I 
have  my  fears,  for  I  have  sometimes 
known  men  to  be  cruel.  (Not  so  cruel 
as  nature,  it  is  true,  and  I  still  prefer  to 
live  with  them.)  Some  are  cruel  for 
nothing  or  for  the  pleasure  of  it,  and 
some  for  good  ends,  and  because  they 
have  to  be  :  for  instance,  when  I  have 
done  wrong,  and  know  it,  and  my  master 
castigates  me.  Under  these  circumstances 
I  keep  my  tail  between  my  legs,  and 
consider  that  I  am  showing  a  proper 
spirit. 

53 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

I  wish  I  could  show  a  proper  spirit, 
said  the  ape,  but  the  thought  of  cruelty 
makes  me  tremble.  Steady,  steady  !  cried 
the  dog  ;  let  us  hope  that  whatever  is 
done  will  be  for  the  good  of  sentient 
creatures.  Then,  seeing  that  the  ape  had 
recovered  his  equanimity,  and,  indeed, 
was  preparing  to  put  a  good  face  on  the 
matter,  he  exclaimed  cheerily  :  Ah,  now 
you  are  behaving  like  a  man  ! 


54 


The  Lamb  and  its  Mother 


55 


The  Lamb  and  its  Mother 

There  was  a  sheep  that  had  brought 
forth  a  lamb,  more  brilhant  and  dis- 
criminating than  herself;  at  least,  the 
lamb  showed  a  gift  for  abstract  inquiries, 
though  it  did  not  drive  very  well  at 
practice.  This,  naturally,  gave  great 
concern  to  the  old  sheep,  and  she  tried 
by  various  artifices  to  direct  her  child's 
footsteps  in  what  she  conceived  to  be  the 
right  channel. 

But  she  was  always  thwarted  by  the 
lamb's  sceptical  disposition — for  it  would 
never  regard  anything  as  quite  sure — and 
by  a  principle,  which  the  lamb  early 
imbibed,  that,  after  all,  it  was  all  One. 

For  example,  the  little  creature  showed 
a  tendency  in  its  feeding  to  confuse  the 
harmful  with  the  nutritious,  and  to  eat 
weeds  and  poisonous  herbs  with  the  same 

57 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

relish  as  the  tender  grass.  You  have  picked 
this  up,  said  the  sheep,  from  the  young 
goat  with  whom  I  saw  you  associating  ;  if 
you  go  on  so,  you  will  give  yourself  an 
indigestion,  if  not  shorten  your  life. 

How  shall  I  know  the  grass  when  I 
see  it  ?  asked  the  lamb.  By  its  colour, 
green,  answered  its  mother.  But  is  it 
really  green  ?  the  sceptical  lamb  demanded. 
It  is  green  enough  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses, replied  the  sheep. 

The  lamb  reflected  for  a  time  about 
this,  with  the  result  of  concluding  that, 
however  that  might  be,  the  grass  was  not 
green  enough  for  theoretical  purposes  ; 
and  that,  anyway,  it  was  all  One. 

Pursuing  its  meditations  as  to  what 
the  grass  was,  if  it  was  not  green,  the 
lamb  came  to  the  conclusion  that  its 
nature  might  be  expressed  with  sufficient 
accuracy  by  saying  that  it  was  different 
from  red  ;  and,  generalising  this,  it  decided 
that  everything  was  different  from  yet 
related  to  everything  else,  but  that,  never- 
theless, it  was  all  One. 

58 


The  Lamb  and  its  Mother 

The  old  sheep,  weHnigh  out  of  patience 
with  a  philosophy  that  transcended  her 
own  humdrum  ideas,  could  only  repeat, 
with  wearisome  insistence  :  Dont  eat 
weeds — don't  confuse  the  noxious  with 
the  edible — don't  think  that  differences 
make  no  difference.  But  the  lamb  replied, 
with  precocious  sapience  :  These  are  nega- 
tions, and  my  philosophy  is  designed  to 
avoid  needless  negations  ;  however,  since 
negation  is  at  bottom  the  same  thing  as 
affirmation,  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
you  assert  or  deny  ;  and,  whichever  you 
do,  it  is  all  One. 

At  this  the  old  sheep  was  at  last  ex- 
asperated beyond  all  measure,  and  broke 
out  angrily  :  This  philosophy  of  unity 
is  the  most  tiresome  and  monotonous 
thing  I  ever  heard  of ;  why,  it  is  against 
common  sense.  But,  even  as  she  said  the 
words,  she  realised  how  far  her  qualifica- 
tions for  philosophy  came  short  of  her 
daughter's,  and  she  brought  them  out 
with  a  certain  sheepishncss. 

Common  sense  !  exclaimed  the  lamb, 
59 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

standing  up  on  its  hind  legs  :  you  are  the 
naivcst  old  lady  that  ever  had  a  lamb  for 
her  offspring.  Do  you  not  know  that 
all  these  things  have  been  definitively 
threshed  out  by  the  Germans,  and  that 
it  has  been  proved  beyond  question  that 
things  in  themselves  are  unknowable  and 
do  not  exist,  and  that  the  universe  is  One  ? 

One  what  ?  asked  the  sheep. 

I  am  not  quite  sure,  answered  her 
daughter  ;  but  if  I  have  correctly  under- 
stood my  illustrious  teachers,  it  is  one 
Lamb. 


60 


The  Mole  and  the  Lark 


6i 


The  Mole  and  the  Lark 

This  is  a  very  dark  world,  said  a  mole. 
I  cannot  think  so,  answered  a  lark  who 
had  seen  him  burrowing  ;  a  moment  ago 
I  was  singing  songs  at  heaven's  gate,  and 
I  assure  you  they  expressed  my  true  feel- 
ing about  existence. 

Heavens  !  said  the  mole  ;  I  was  not 
talking  about  the  ratio  between  the  de- 
lights and  the  sorrows  of  living,  which 
some  people  find  so  depressing.  I  enjoy 
my  subterranean  life  as  much  as  you  do 
your  celestial  one,  and  I  have  no  wish  to 
exchange  my  appetising  labours  for  the 
repose  of  the  grave.  What  I  meant  was 
that  the  world  is  dark  in  a  metaphysical 
sense.  I  was  forcibly  reminded  of  it  the 
other  day  when  my  hole  caved  in,  and  a 
storm  of  atoms,  very  like  that  described 
by  Lucretius,  threatened  to  bury  me. 

63 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

And  how  did  you  escape  ?  asked  the 
bird,  much  interested,  and  indeed  all  of 
a  flutter.  By  opposing  to  the  storm  of 
atoms  a  contrary  storm,  said  the  mole, 
with  all  the  force  of  my  fore  and  hinder 
paws.  That  sounds  like  free  will,  said 
the  bird.  There  was  will  enough,  I  can 
tell  you,  answered  the  mole,  and  fortu- 
nately all  four  of  my  paws  were  free. 
Otherwise  I  might  not  have  been  here 
to  tell  you  the  story. 

But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  learned  a  lesson 
from  the  adventure,  and  that  lesson  was 
(if  I  may  use  a  hackneyed  expression)  the 
power  of  circumstance.  Circumstance 
here  of  course  means  earth — in  short,  the 
atoms.  The  earthiness  of  existence,  the 
atomic  nature  of  the  forces  with  which 
we  have  to  do — that  was  the  lesson. 

Your  experience  was  a  trying  one, 
returned  the  lark,  but  I  think  one  must 
have  lived  underground  to  adopt  your 
explanation  of  it.  Ugh  !  to  think  of 
being  buried  under  a  storm  of  atoms,  or, 
for  that  matter,  living   in  one  !     It  is   a 

64 


The  Mole  and  the  Lark 

nocturnal  view  of  existence — nay,  it  gives 
me  the  nightmare  merely  to  think  of  it. 

Darling  creature,  replied  the  mole,  I 
love  to  hear  vou  sing — indeed,  I  have 
often  wished  that  I  had  your  voice — but, 
reallv,  you  shouldn't  venture  to  discuss 
philosophy.  The  depths  of  existence  are 
not  to  be  sounded  by  touching  upper  C. 
In  very  truth,  you  do  live  in  a  storm  of 
atoms — or,  not  to  be  behind  the  latest 
advance  of  science,  of  electrons — and  the 
air  you  breathe  and  the  atmosphere  in 
which  you  float  are  composed  of  nothing 
else.  Now,  atoms  and  electrons  are  dark 
things — they  are  out  of  sight,  and  not 
even  the  physicists  understand  about 
them.  That  is  what  I  meant  by  the 
world  being  dark  ;  and,  in  saying  it,  I 
have  the  whole  of  natural  science  to  back 
me. 

So  that  Mozart,  cried  the  lark,  whom 
I  taught  to  sing,  and  who  in  return  gave 
me  (or  was  it  his  spirit  ?)  some  of  my 
loveliest  melodies,  lived  in  the  world  of 
darkness    you     describe,    and     his    finger- 

65 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

exercises  and  dear  little  pen-strokes  were 
but  eddies  in  the  storm,  mere  scurryings  of 
atoms  ?  You  make  me  wish  I  were  dead 
— a  wish  1  have  never  felt  before. 

It  is  possible,  answered  the  mole,  that 
something  in  my  underground  mode  of 
life,  or  perhaps  a  defect  of  my  organism 
(for  it  is  only  your  voice,  your  charming 
voice,  I  hear),  hides  from  me  an  aspect  of 
things  which  it  would  be  in  the  interests 
of  my  philosophy  to  consider.  What  you 
say  about  Mozart  touches  me,  for  I  am 
very  sensitive  (though  you  might  not 
think  it)  to  music.  Lucretius,  to  whom 
I  am  accustomed  to  look  for  wisdom, 
omits,  I  think,  to  mention  the  music  of 
the  spheres,  and  that  is  my  sole  ground 
for  suspecting  him  of  incompleteness. 

You  are  an  honest  mole,  said  the  lark, 
as  well  as  a  music-loving  one  ;  and  now, 
to  reward  you  for  your  artistic  conscience, 
I  will  tell  you  a  great  secret.  Oh,  it  is 
hidden  from  moles,  unless  they  be  music- 
loving  ones  !  The  world  is  ?wt  really  dark 
at  all^  but  full  to  overflowing  of  light.      And 

66 


The  Mole  and  the  Lark 

that  is  why  I  sing,  and  why  my  songs  are 
worthy  of  Mozart. 

Every  living  creature  is  full  of  light, 
and  even  the  rocks  and  little  stones  are 
inwardly  luminous,  though  they  are  not 
so  intelligent.  And  this  is  why  the  brooks 
murmur,  and  the  waves  laugh,  and  the 
trees  sigh  in  the  wind,  and  the  birds  in 
them  sing  their  songs,  sometimes  lovelier 
than  mine.  There  is  a  bird  who  sings 
now  and  then  when  I  am  about  to  go  to 
rest,  and  whom  I  should  envy,  if  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  any  one — oh, 
how  I  wish  you  could  hear  him  !  But 
this  talk  of  music  must  be  wearisome  to 
one  without  a  technical  interest. 

The  language  of  birds  is  not  talk,  said 
the  mole  gallantly,  and  I  wish  you  could 
go  on  for  ever.  I  see  now  that  soaring 
aloft  reveals  points  of  view  that  are  con- 
cealed from  a  mere  drudge  like  myself, 
and  I  begin  to  wish  I  had  wings  like  you. 

Keep  on  with  your  love  of  music,  sang 
the  lark  merrily,  and  perhaps  you  will 
have. 

67  F  2 


The  Stoic  and 
the  Christian  Martyr 


69 


i 


The  Stoic  and 
the  Christian  Martyr 

A  Stoic  sat  beside  an  early  Christian  who 
had  been  his  friend,  and  who,  his  trial 
ended,  had  been  allowed  a  brief  airing. 

My  dear  friend,  said  he,  I  hear  that  you 
have  been  condemned  to  be  burnt  at  the 
stake  ;  and  I  find  it  hard  to  express  my 
horror,  and  the  deep  compassion  which 
your  position  inspires  in  me.  We  have 
often  discussed  philosophy  together  :  how 
comes  it  that  you  have  accepted  this 
ruinous  superstition,  and  are  prepared  to 
maintain  it  at  the  cost  of  your  life  ? 

We  reached  no  end  in  our  discussions, 
answered  the  other,  and  I  felt  a  need  in 
me  that  no  earthly  philosophy  could  fill. 
Truth,  to  be  really  truth,  must  satisfy  the 
heart's  desire.       You    were  always   gentle 

71 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

and  candid  in  our  talks,  but  I  felt  that  you 
were  not  seeking  the  same  things  as  I. 
Truth,  to  the  two  of  us,  meant  something 
different.  There  are  these  two  types  of 
mind,  the  tender  and  (if  I  may  say  it 
without  offence)  the  tough. 

Is  there  not  a  slight  mixing  of  things, 
observed  the  Stoic,  in  this  division  —  a 
confusion  of  thoughts,  with  their  proper 
goal,  and  feelings,  with  their  demands  .?  I 
should  say  that  the  true  antithesis  was 
rather  between  the  hard-headed  and  the 
soft-hearted.  I  am  as  tender  as  you,  or 
try  to  be,  where  tenderness  is  in  place  ;  but 
the  sincere  pursuit  of  truth  seems  to  me 
to  demand  a  different  quality.  I  should 
say  that,  here,  single-mindedness,  and  some- 
thing like  the  absolute  innocence  of  the 
child,  was  the  only  virtue. 

I  have  often  admired,  returned  the 
Christian,  your  genuine  love  of  truth, 
but  there  seems  to  go  with  it  that  hard- 
ness— as  you  yourself  acknowledge — and  I 
sometimes  find  it  deeply  wounding. 

It  is  the  hardness  of  the  surgeon's  knife, 
72 


The  Stoic  and  the  Christian  Martyr 

replied  the  Stoic,  that  penetrates  in  order 
to  bring  peace  and  comfort  to  a  distracted 
soul.  To  such  hardness  the  soul  should  be 
insensible. 

But  can  the  end  be  reached  ?  objected 
the  Christian — can  relief  and  healing  be 
really  brought  ? 

That  is  a  matter  of  faith,  said  the 
Stoic. 

This  intellectual  faith,  I  fear,  returned 
his  friend,  is  lacking  to  me.  For  know- 
ledge of  the  truth  I  must  lean  on  another. 
That  is  my  faith.  But  in  docility  I  see 
that  we  are  alike. 

After  a  few  moments  of  meditation, 
the  Stoic  turned  to  the  Christian  and  said  : 
But  how  can  you  feel  sure  of  attaining  the 
truth  by  this  path — are  you  not  sometimes 
troubled  by  doubts  ? 

To  confess  the  truth,  answered  the 
Christian,  I  am.  I  alternate  between  two 
states,  in  one  of  which  I  experience  con- 
viction and  a  mystic  sense  of  joy,  and  in 
the  other  the  disquieting  suspicion  that  the 
world  may  not  be,  lifter  all,  as  I  dream  it. 

73 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

And  how  do  you  deal  with  this  latter 
state  ?  asked  the  Stoic. 

Here  it  is,  replied  the  Christian,  that 
I  make  use  of  the  reasonings  in  which 
our  discussions  have  trained  me.  I  say  to 
myself  that  it  may  be  so  ;  that  life  would 
be  a  sorry  farce  if  it  were  not  so  ;  and  then 
— under  the  strong  impulse  of  that  desire 
of  the  heart  of  which  I  have  spoken — 
I  act  as  if  it  were  so.  In  short,  I  have 
a  will  to  believe  ;  and  I  maintain  that, 
hedged  in  by  the  limitations  I  have 
suggested,  I  have  a  right  to  believe. 

I  like  better  your  expression,  said  the 
Stoic,  of  acting  as  if  it  were  so  ;  for  one 
cannot  make  oneself  believe  by  willing  it 
— though  one  may  find  within  one  a  will 
to  believe  that  one  has  not  made — and  I 
admit  that,  in  the  conditions  you  mention, 
you  have  the  right  so  to  act.  But  every- 
thing depends  on  one's  estimate  of  the 
objective  state  of  things  ;  and,  still  more, 
on  their  being  as  one  conceives  them. 

Yes,  said  the  Christian  :  things  are  as 
they  are,  and    the  consequences    of  them 

74 


i 


The  Stoic  and  the  Christian  Martyr 

will  be  what  they  will  be,  and  there  is  no 
profit  in  being  deceived. 

What  risks,  then,  returned  the  Stoic, 
do  you  run  ! 

Yes,  said  the  Christian,  but  for  the 
hope  of  what  a  glorious  reward  !  I  cannot 
make  terms  with  your  view  that  this  is 
the  only  world,  and  my  hopes  are  fixed  on 
another. 

You  have  sufficient  ground,  continued 
the  Stoic,  after  a  little,  for  dissatisfaction 
with  the  present  life.  But  have  you  con- 
sidered what  may  happen  to  the  world 
if  you  altogether  withdraw  your  interest 
trom  it  ?  You  could  do  so  much,  with 
your  moral  energy  and  your  brotherly  love, 
to  redeem  and  reconstruct  it,  if  your 
thoughts  were  not  fastened  on  a  better 
one.  Think  what  may  happen,  if  your 
nascent  religion  should  become  a  power  in 
the  world  :  the  hardening,  and  deflection 
trom  their  proper  end,  that  always  come 
when  ideas  pass  over  into  institutions  ;  the 
earthly  ambitions,  the  thirst  for  temporal 
pomp    and   grandeur,   that    arise   in    their 

75 


The  Wisdom  of  the  Beasts 

ministers  ;  the  subtle  adjustment  of  un- 
worldly ideals  to  worldly  ends,  the  perse- 
cutions of  those  of  another  way  of  thinking 
— nay,  the  wars,  and  the  corruptions  with- 
out end,  that  are  only  too  likely  to  follow. 

You  draw  a  dreadful  picture,  replied 
the  Christian  ;  but  it  is  only  a  possibility, 
and  things  may  turn  out  differently.  We 
must  leave  the  future  to  God. 

There  is  a  sense,  said  the  Stoic,  in 
which  I  agree  with  you. 

At  this  moment  the  Stoic  and  the 
Christian,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the 
sea-shore,  were  swept  away  by  a  great 
wave,  and  found  themselves,  ex  improviso^ 
on  the  edge  of  eternity.  We  must  swim 
for  our  lives,  cried  the  Christian.  Heaven 
helps  those  who  help  themselves. 

I  fear  it  helps  no  one  else,  replied  the 
Stoic.  That  is  probably  what  your  prophet 
meant  when  he  said  that  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  within  you. 


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